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Bound to
Violence
By Yambo Ouologuem
The Legend of the
Saifs
After the death of the just Saif al-Heit,
however, the accursed son Saif al-Haram and his minister Al Hadj
Abd al-Hassana, struck by a stone in the soul they did not
possess, spent large sums of money supporting the most
influential and discontented families at court: twelve thousand
dishes were served them at each meal; they received bribes,
pensions, and titles of nobility as pompous as they were
meaningless; all the magnificence of a fairy tale: their horses,
to the number of 3,260, drank milk in mangers inlaid with gold
and ivory. Allah harmin katamadjo!
To maintain this ostentation and satisfy his
craving for glory and new lands, Saif, thanks to the complicity
of the southern chiefs, extended the slave trade, which he
blessed like the bloodthirsty hypocrite he was. Amidst the
diabolical jubilation of priest and merchant, of family circles
and public organs, niggers, who unlike God have arms but no
soul, were clubbed, sold, stockpiled, haggled over, adjudicated,
flogged, bound and delivered--with attentive, studied, sorrowful
contempt--to the Portuguese, the Spaniards, the Arabs (on the
east and north coasts), and to the French, Dutch, and English
(west coast), and so scattered to the winds.
A hundred million of the damned--so moan the
troubadours of Nakem when the evening vomits forth its starry
diamonds--were carried away. Bound in bundles of six, shorn of
all human dignity, they were flung into the Christian incognito
of ships' holds, where no light could reach them. And there was
not a single trader of souls who dared, on pain of losing his
own, to show his head at the hatches. A single hour in that
pestilential hole, in that orgy of fever, starvation, vermin,
beriberi, scurvy, suffocation, and misery, would have left no
man unscathed.
Thirty percent died en route. And, since
charity is a fine thing and hardly human, those amiable slavers
were obliged when their cargo was unloaded to pay a fine for
every dead slave; slaves who were as sick as a goat in labor
were thrown to the sharks. Newborn babes incurred the same fate:
they were thrown overboard as surplus. . . . Half naked and
utterly bewildered, the niggertrash, young as the new moon, were
crowded into open pens and auctioned off. there they lay beneath
the eyes of the all-powerful (and just) God, a human tide, a
black mass of putrid flesh, a spectacle of ebbing life and
nameless suffering.
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The heap of slaves writhed, cries and moans
were heard, bodies were trampled when the trader cracked his
whip to wake up the niggers in the front rows. Those who had
come to see the sight kept a respectful distance and watched the
priests who were here to proclaim the word of Christ but could
only fight down their disgust, hang their heads, and let their
rosaries slip through their fingers. . . .
Fascinated by the bodies of the
slaves or by their quivering sex organs (it happened
time and time again), a young girl whose beauty
outmarveled her finery, with the piping voice, the
restless eye, the fluttering throat of a guinea, would
turn to her pink-and-white mother, if not for
consolation then at least for a sign of interest or an
authoritative opinion on black sexuality. One of the
charming replies was: "The Holy father doesn't
approve of café au lait. . . ."
Others, Less circumspect, like the
fiery-eyed English pirate Hawkins, made their profit and
were knighted by the hand of a queen, Queen Elizabeth
among others, which permitted them to enrich their
escutcheons with "a demi-Moor in his proper
color, bound with a cord." God save the Queen! Meanwhile at the court of the Nakem Empire,
the unpopular Saif al-Haram, once the restive nobility had been
domesticated, incited his minister to stir up "as much
trouble as possible" between the backward, untamable, and
perpetually warring tribes. |
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For there were no lengths to which Saif would
not go to obtain cattle, land, and other capital goods.
Engineered with a more than machiavellian guile, the raids of
the Masai, the Zulus, the Jaga so infuriated the victimized
tribes, races, and peoples (so it was ordained from On High)
that an entire tribe would tremble with impatience when its
chief, hurling his lance in the direction of the "enemy
race" (accused of having carried off such and such
villagers and sold them into slavery), roared that the time had
come for their assegais to drink the accursed enemy blood.
Cruel peoples, whose speech is a kind of
croaking, fierce killers, men of the jungle, living in a state
of bestiality, mating with the first woman they find, tall in
stature and horrible to look upon, hairy men with abnormally
long nails, the Zulus, Jaga, and Masai feed on human flesh and
go naked, armed with shields, darts, and daggers. Savage in
their customs and daily lives, they know no faith nor law nor
king. in the early dawn they crawl out of their wretched forest
huts and destroy everything before them with fire and sword,
pillaging the remotest corners of the Nakem Empire and driving
the populations of those regions from their homes with no other
recourse but to throw themselves on the mercy of Saif or to
perish of hunger, sickness, and privation.
At that same time the Nakem provinces
suffered such famine and pestilence that a very little food came
to cost the price of a slave--at least three florins. under the
lash of necessity a father sold his son, a brother his brother;
no villainy was too great if food might be procured by it. Those
who were sold under pressure of starvation were bought by
traders come from São Tomé in ships laden with food. the
sellers claimed that these people were already slaves, and the
sold, in their eagerness to be fed, were only too glad to
concur. And so countless free men made slaves of themselves,
sold themselves by necessity.
In almost every part of the empire and its
dependencies an unprecedented orgy of violence ensued. the
capture of rebel tribes, of free men, of defeated warriors, the
sacrifice of their chief and the feasting on his flesh, became
ritual acts, which entered into the customs of those jittery
jigs, whose barbarity fell in with the plans of the emperor and
his notables. . . .
Through intermediaries, Saif al-Haram
encouraged the raiders to bless the wounded captives with a
stroke of the saber, to carry their skulls spitted on lances and
assegais to the door of the victor who--God wills it!--was
feasted as a hero. And as though a Black really had the soul of
a man, the chief of the prisoners and his family were given over
to the mercies of the village women and children who whirled
around them, leaping, dancing, singing, shouting insults, and
spitting on them in order, so they swore, to cleanse their souls
of Satan's blackness. On the third day of their captivity, the
sorcerer, his eyes aflame with pride and avenging hate, skinned
more than shaved their skulls, which were then rubbed with
karite butter.
Then each village in turn danced around the
prisoners with a crudely carved knife and "stabbed"
the chief once for every year of his won age and once for every
relative he himself had lost in the last slave raid. And before
yielding his place to the next villager's blood lust, he bent
his knee before the prisoner, taunted him and reviled him, spat
on him and gave him three sharp blows, punctuated with a
clicking of the tongue. And all laughed uproariously at the
sight of the blood oozing from the victim's bruises.
On the night of the third day, his ankles
weighed down with tinkling bells, the chief of the
prisoners--bound hand and foot as the women whirled around him,
lewdly uncovering their nakedness for a flashing moment, arching
their backs and tapping their pubic hair with the palms of their
hands--was castrated by the sorcerer amidst the ecstasy of the
crowd, whose collective rejoicing verged on hysteria.
And paralyzed with pain, the castrated
husband, his thighs sticky with blood, looked on helpless as his
wives--first standing, but in that same instant rolled in the
dust--became the harlots of the victorious village, stripped,
and then to the mad rhythm of the tom-tom taken each in turn by
every man and woman in the village. . . .
The next day but one, on the eve of the
sacrifice, men and women were "purified" by bathing
and massaged with cow butter (their children had been
disemboweled immediately after the raid). On the seventh day of
their captivity, they were so rubbed with peanut oil and tied to
a pole, half dead with pent-up rage under the taunting words and
gestures of the villagers. Made feverish by the thought of
their impending death, with burning eyes and foaming mouths, the
captives butted the air with their heads and, frantic to kill
their enemies, clawed and bit and snarled at them as they
passed.
On the evening of the seventh day all the
prisoners, glutted with palm wine, drunk on millet beer, were
howling like dogs. At midnight they died on the wood fire, in
the crackling hiss of their ft, presenting to the the expert
fingers of the cannibals human flesh as white as that of a
suckling pig. The brains and the women's sexual parts were set
aside for the "eminent men"; with clearly aphrodisiac
intent, the chief's testicles were sprinkled with pepper and
strong spice, to be relished by the women in their communal
soup. ordained by hatred, innate evil, blood lust, thirst for
vengeance, or perhaps by a desire to inherit the qualities of
the devoured victims, the ghoulish feast ended in an orgy of
drinking. Cannibalism was one of the darkest features of that
spectral Africa over which hung the malefic shadow of Saif al-Haram.
A sob for her.
On April 20, 1532, on a night as soft as a
cloak of moist satin, Saif al-Haram, performing his conjugal
"duty" with his four stepmothers seriatim and all
together, had the imprudent weakness to overindulge and in the
very midst of his dutiful delights gave up the ghost. . . .
Source:
Bound to Violence by Yambo Ouolohuem; translated by
Ralph Manhein. A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book, Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich, Inc. New York, 1971, pp.
13-16.
* * *
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Guarding the Flame of Life
/
Strange Fruit Lynching Report
Contemporary African Immigrants to The United States /
African immigration to the United States
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African Renaissance
/
Kwame
Nkrumah, Kenyatta, and the Old Order /
God Save His Majesty
For Kwame Nkrumah
/
Night of the Giants /
The Legend of the Saifs /
Interview with Yambo Ouologuem
Yambo
Bio & Review
African
Renaissance (Journal)
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Our African
Journey
We stood in El Mina slave dungeon, on the
Cape Coast of Ghana on a recent trip to West
Africa, overwhelmed by despair, grief, and
rage. Without needing to verbalize it, we
were both imagining what reaching this spot
must have felt like for some long-ago,
un-remembered African ancestor as she stood
trembling on the precipice of an unknown and
terrifyingly uncertain future.
It was hard to process the fact that for
over three hundred years, millions of women,
men and children, mothers, fathers,
grandmothers, aunts, sisters, brothers,
potters, weavers, had begun their long and
brutal journey of being captured, kidnapped,
sold, and enslaved from the very spot where
we now stood the portal now infamously known
as the door of no return.
Growing a Global Heart
Belvie and Dedan at the Door
of No Return |
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Bob Marley— Exodus
Bob
Marley was a Jamaican singer-songwriter and
musician. He was the lead singer, songwriter
and guitarist for the ska, rocksteady and
reggae bands The Wailers (19641974) and Bob
Marley & the Wailers (19741981). Marley
remains the most widely known and revered
performer of reggae music, and is credited
for helping spread both Jamaican music and
the Rastafari movement (of which he was a
committed member), to a worldwide audience.
* *
* * *
Exodus
By Bob Marley
Exodus! Movement of Jah people! oh-oh-oh,
yea-eah!
Well uh, oh. let me tell you this:
Men and people will fight ya
down (tell me why!)
When ya see Jah light.
(ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!)
Let me tell you if you're not wrong; (then,
why? )
Everything is all right.
So we gonna walk—All
right!—through
de roads of creation:
We the generation (tell me why!)
Trod through great tribulation—trod
through great tribulation.
Exodus! All right! Movement of Jah people!
Oh, yeah! o-oo, yeah! All right!
Exodus! Movement of Jah people! oh, yeah!
Yeah-yeah-yeah, well!
Open your eyes and look within.
Are you satisfied with the life you're
living? uh!
We know where we're going, uh!
We know where we're from.
We're leaving Babylon,
We're going to our father's land.
One, Two, Three, Four
Exodus! Movement of Jah people! oh, yeah!
Movement of Jah people!—send
us another Brother Moses!
Movement of Jah people!—from
across the Red Sea!
Movement of Jah people!—send
us another Brother Moses!
Movement of Jah people!—from
across the Red Sea!
Movement of Jah people!
Exodus! All right! oo-oo-ooh! oo-ooh!
Movement of Jah people! oh, yeah!
Exodus!
Exodus! All right!
Exodus! now, now, now, now!
Exodus!
Exodus! oh, yea-ea-ea-ea-ea-ea-eah!
Exodus!
Exodus! All right!
Exodus! uh-uh-uh-uh!
One, Two, Three, Four
Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!
Open your eyes and look within.
Are you satisfied with the life you're
living?
We know where we're going;
We know where we're from.
We're leaving Babylon, yall!
We're going to our father's land.
Exodus! All right! Movement of Jah people!
Exodus! Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!
Jah come to break downpression,
Rule equality.
Wipe away transgression.
Set the captives free!
Exodus! All right, all right!
Movement of Jah people! oh, yeah!
Exodus! Movement of Jah people! oh, now,
now, now, now!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!
uh-uh-uh-uh!
Movement of Jah people!
Move!
Movement of Jah people!
Move!
Movement of Jah people)!
Move!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people)!
Movement of Jah people)!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people! |
* * *
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The Slave Ship
By Marcus Rediker
Strange Fruit Lynching Report
/
Anniversary of a Lynching
Willie
McGhee Lynching /
My Grandfather's Execution
Dr. Robert Lee Interview /
African American Dentist in Ghana
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African Aid breeds African dependency
*
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Speaking Truth to Power: Selected Pan-African Postcards
By Tajudeen Abdul-Raheem (Author)
Salim Ahmed Salim
(Preface), Horace Campbell (Foreword)
Dr Tajudeen Abdul-Raheem's
untimely death on African Liberation Day 2009 stunned the
Pan-African world. This selection of his Pan-African postcards,
written between 2003 and 2009, demonstrates the brilliant wordsmith
he was, his steadfast commitment to Pan-Africanism, and his
determination to speak truth to power. He was a discerning analyst
of developments in the global and Pan-African world and a vociferous
believer in the potential of Africa and African people; he wrote his
weekly postcards for over a decade. This book demonstrates Tajudeen
Abdul-Raheem's ability to express complex ideas in an engaging
manner. The Pan-African philosophy on diverse but intersecting
themes presented in this book offers a legacy of his political,
social, and cultural thought. |
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Represented here are his fundamental respect for the
capabilities, potential and contribution of women in
transforming Africa; penetrating truths directed at
African politicians and their conduct; and
deliberations on the institutional progress towards
African union. He reflects on culture and emphasises
the commonalities of African people.
Also represented are his denunciations of
international financial institutions, the G8 and
NGOs in Africa, with incisive analysis of
imperialism's manifestations and impact on the lives
of African people, and his passion for eliminating
poverty in Africa. His personality bounces off the
page—one can almost hear the passion of his voice,
'Don't Agonise! Organise!'
Tajudeen Abdul-Raheem (1961-2009)
was a Rhodes scholar and obtained his D. Phil in Politics from Oxford
University. In 1990 he became Coordinator of the Africa Research and Information
Bureau and the founding editor of
Africa World
Review. He co-founded and led Justice Africa's work, becoming its
Executive Director in 2004, and combined this with his role as General Secretary
of the Pan-African Movement. He was chair of the Centre for Democracy and
Development and of the Pan-African Development Education and Advocacy Programme
in Uganda and became the UN Millennium Development Campaign's Deputy Director in
2006.
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Sex at the Margins
Migration, Labour Markets and the Rescue Industry
By Laura María Agustín
This book explodes several myths: that selling sex is completely different from any other kind of work, that migrants who sell sex are passive victims and that the multitude of people out to save them are without self-interest. Laura Agustín makes a passionate case against these stereotypes, arguing that the label 'trafficked' does not accurately describe migrants' lives and that the 'rescue industry' serves to disempower them. Based on extensive research amongst both migrants who sell sex and social helpers, Sex at the Margins provides a radically different analysis. Frequently, says Agustin, migrants make rational choices to travel and work in the sex industry, and although they are treated like a marginalised group they form part of the dynamic global economy. Both powerful and controversial, this book is essential reading for all those who want to understand the increasingly important relationship between sex markets, migration and the desire for social justice. "Sex at the Margins rips apart distinctions between migrants, service work and sexual labour and reveals the utter complexity of the contemporary sex industry. This book is set to be a trailblazer in the study of sexuality."—Lisa Adkins, University of London |
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The White Masters of the
World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
* *
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Ancient African Nations
* * * * *
If you like this page consider making a donation
* * * * *
Negro Digest /
Black World
Browse all issues
1950
1960
1965
1970
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____ 2005
Enjoy!
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The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
/
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
/
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for
Slavery /
George Jackson /
Hurricane Carter
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
/
January 1, 1804 -- The Founding of
Haiti
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update 7 July 2008
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